


The Secret Of The Woods

by Sleepless_Malice



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A classic, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Kink, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Since the Fellowship's arrival in Lothlórien, Boromir - plagued by grief and longing - cannot find rest.





	The Secret Of The Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laetificat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laetificat/gifts).



**Pledge of Allegiance**

*****

Boromir could not find sleep that night, no matter how hard he tried despite being beyond exhausted; the restless journey through the gloom of the Mines of Moria had left its mark on every member of the fellowship.

Here, under the dense leaf canopy of Lothlórien, it was as if distant voices whispered to Boromir of things no other than he himself knew, scolding and judging. It was as if the trees emitted vapors that filled the air with a strange melancholy, wrapping its poisoned fingers tightly around him. He had grieved Gandalf’s death in the wretched mines just as everybody else had, and mourned the loss still, yet the sadness he felt that night was different, stronger and more emotional. Whilst on ordinary nights the closeness of the Fellowship felt soothing to Boromir, it now felt like choking hands. He had to get away from those already asleep.

As quietly as he could he rose from his bedroll, tip-toeing away in order not to wake anyone. He wasn’t in the mood to be questioned, let alone to have company. What occupied his mind wasn’t meant to be shared.

Boromir was not familiar at all with the strangest of forests he ever had laid eyes upon. Perhaps Legolas and Aragorn were, but that he didn’t know nor did he care. Therefore, he did not know where to go. By instinct he began to wander away from the illuminated dwellings high above in the trees. The sad songs from them that still filled the air were not helping to improve his mood at all. Although he didn’t understand the tongue of the Elves, he grasped the meaning – laments, speaking of forsaken days and worse to come. Without turning back to see if he had woken anybody up, Boromir followed a narrow path, which ultimately led him down towards a little stream. There, finally the world was quiet again.

With a deep sigh, Boromir sat down on a stone next to the flowing stream, watching how the starlight reflected in the shallow water before he looked up into the sky and gasped. It was as if the light of billions of stars flitted through the dense leaf canopy, each one shining much brighter than they did back home where the sky was not obscured by trees.

The experience was otherworldly. But then, what was ordinary in these woods?

From young years on Boromir had heard the tell-tales of the Elves; tales about their magical powers and the way they spoke wordlessly with their mind alone, able to alter the thoughts of another. Although he only believed half of it, Boromir could not deny how strange he had felt upon entering the Golden Wood and all the days since the feeling lingered.

He forced himself to listen to the soothing sound of gurgling water and after a while he finally began to calm down. In the wake of listening to the music of the water he allowed his mind to dig out his most precious memories: of Faramir, passionate and beautiful, so utterly loyal and devoted, far more than just his brother. He was his best friend, his ally – and lover. Boromir would kill just to keep him safe, had almost done so once.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Faramir’s company was what he truly lacked. Boromir had missed him since the day he left Minas Tirith behind and rode for Rivendell, but tonight it had become nearly unbearable. There was nothing else he could do against it but indulge in all the sweet memories he has collected over the years. That Boromir did with all his heart.

The sound of footsteps tore him out of his blissful dreams. Boromir was immediately alerted, ready to jump up within a second despite knowing that the woods were well protected. But then, who would protect him against the Elves? But Boromir only wondered for a moment until he realized that the heavy footsteps could hardly belong to an Elf. He turned toward the source of the sound and narrowed his eyes until he recognized Aragorn’s face in the twilight, leading to immediate annoyance.

“What is it?” he asked the moment Aragorn stepped fully into his view. Boromir did not even try to sound polite.

“Nothing,” Aragorn said, gesturing Boromir to remain seated with his hand.

“Then why did you follow me?” Boromir asked, sighing in irritation.

He had come here to find peace and solitude, at least for a little while yet not even that was granted him. Angered, he stubbornly averted his gaze, looking down at his dirty boots.

Aragorn remained silent for a moment as if he carefully chose his words, Boromir noticed.

“Since our arrival in Lothlórien, you appeared to be troubled and your discomfort only seemed to grow day by day.”

Boromir had not spoken to anyone about the voices he heard in his mind and he did not plan to do so now.

“Sometimes, memories are more alive in some places than in others,” he said, watching the water of the stream caress the edges of the polished pebbles.

When he thought about these words, he found some truth in it. The forest outside of Minas Tirith, though quite ordinary compared to the Golden Wood, had become his and Faramir’s little sanctuary, far away from their father and his ever-watchful lackeys.

“I understand,” Aragorn said, squatting down in front of Boromir.

“Then surely you understand the wish for a moment of solitude?” Boromir hissed under his breath.

Still looking into the water, Boromir felt the burning gaze upon his face.

“It’s not solitude you are looking for, Boromir,” Aragorn stated with a certainty that took Boromir’s breath away.

Had it been annoyance Boromir felt before at Aragorn’s intrusion, it now shifted towards anger. Who was he to make such judgments?

“I know about the customs in Gondor,” Aragorn’s voice came again. “What is acceptable – and what is not.”

The words didn’t fail to hit their mark. Boromir was outraged. For a moment he felt the almost irresistible urge to lash out as he did during the Council of Elrond, yet no words would come. He was rendered speechless by such blatancy. Boromir expected some additional remark to follow but it never came.

Aragorn’s silence surprised him, and it gave him the chance to remember the first night of clumsy touches, of guilt and tears; of everything that followed; the last night before he rode out to Rivendell, spent in Faramir’s arms, accompanied by whispered promises against heated skin, the way Faramir had looked at him – pleading and begging, wretchedly heartbreaking – when he had saddled his horse.

It was as if Aragorn sensed the turmoil of Boromir’s heart.

“I can never replace the love you harbor for another, nor shall I try,” he said, “but I can offer you a moment of comfort.”

For the first time, Boromir looked up, the tears ready to fall any moment. His weakness and misery in this moment were undisguised, exactly how he had been taught not to show emotions; even now, in the back of his head he heard his father’s scolding voice. But instead of judgment, he saw understanding and trust in Aragorn’s eyes that was reinforced by a gesture of friendship, a clap upon his shoulder.

Hesitantly and with his arm shaking, Boromir returned it.

Boromir knew what happened between soldiers in the wild during patrols, far away from watchful eyes and waiting wives and squalling babies. He has heard it and seen it with his own eyes. Despite Denethor’s prohibition of such acts abhorrent to nature they were still alive, occurring in dark times of war more even more frequently than usually. Although he did not judge those who shared a quick tumble in the wilds, Boromir had never indulged in anything like it - never had the chance to, being heir to the Steward of Gondor and afraid of the rumors that might spread like wildfire through Minas Tirith’s streets. There was only one he deemed trustworthy enough to keep his mouth shut.

Aragorn’s silent offer still hung in the air.

Boromir felt conflicted and yet strangely intrigued.

“Why?”

Aragorn smiled.

“Because your misery is palpable, has been all the while since our first encounter in Rivendell. You raised your voice but felt guilty afterwards, and whenever you thought nobody would notice your mind slipped into memories. Your eyes reveal more than your tongue ever would, Boromir. I only have to look to see it.”

He could not argue against any of it. His temper had flared more than once and often he could be found brooding by the fire late at night, lost in his own thoughts whilst with regret he remembered better days when cheerful laughter had filled Minas Tirith’s halls. Would it truly be a crime to indulge in such idle pleasantries to chase away the gloomy thoughts? Here, far away from his father’s judging gaze, in another realm?  

“Is it not true, Boromir” Aragorn’s voice pierced through the fog the mental images conjured and brought Boromir back to reality, “that the memory of things that were keeps you awake night after night? That amidst the guilt and the thought of betrayal disappointment still lingers, sparked by the laws and customs of your realm. I learned much about them whilst I lived as Thorongil in Minas Tirith and I am learning still.”

He spoke calmly and slowly, letting each word linger in the air for a moment before continuing. Boromir closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his voice like a lullaby. It wasn’t exactly what Aragorn said, rather how he said it that made Boromir decide, though he did not know what his decision included. His breath hitched just a little as he finally stood up from the stone, putting him at eye level with Aragorn. Still, he was at a loss for what to say.

His nervousness must have shown, as Aragorn saved him the further embarrassment of prolonged silence.

“Here,” Aragorn said with a smile Boromir had trouble reading as he retrieved a twisted rope that shone silver in the starlight, holding it in the small space between them. “Perhaps it makes it easier to .. pretend.”

Then he pulled out a small vial with his other hand, also offering it to Boromir. Boromir had a clear idea what it was.

“Prepared for all eventualities, I see,” Boromir snorted, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“You never know.” Aragorn said with a suggestive smile, beginning to tie his own stretched out hands together with the rope.

The mere sight of it Aragorn doing this, no matter how clumsily done with the vial still in his hand, sent a thrill down Boromir’s spine. His body clearly reacted to it, but was it truly caused by what he saw, or rather the implication of trust and loyalty that made his heart race, and then – would he be willing to do the same?

Boromir well knew the answer – and so did Aragorn.

Boromir had not noticed how starved he truly was for physical comfort until then. It had been long ago when he had left his father’s halls and had ridden forth to Rivendell, not knowing if he’d see his beloved brother ever again. And now, with Aragorn tying his hands, he remembered well the occasions when Faramir had formed the most intricate patterns around Boromir’s own body, spending literally hours to create a human piece of art. Although he clearly would not do any of it tonight to Aragorn, Boromir knew how to put the rope to good use...

“So?” Aragorn asked.

Boromir saw the challenge in his eyes.

A nod, followed by a tilt of his head towards the nearest tree was all response Boromir gave.

With amazement he watched Aragorn obey, moving towards it as if it was the most natural thing to be ordered around by someone Boromir wasn’t even sure he considered a friend.

This time, Boromir did not tarry.

He followed Aragorn, standing face to face now, surprised when Aragorn bridged the remaining distance between them in a way Boromir had not expected it. He pressed up against Boromir, and Boromir could feel everything - muscles against his own, the other’s breath, hard and ragged against his face and, most prominent of all, his erection pressed against his own.

Boromir was shaking and his heart was racing, and the knowledge that Aragorn could feel exactly this, only added to the excitement he felt.

“What would you have, son of Gondor?”

Boromir shuddered.

The way Aragorn said it brought forth fantasies, some very filthy ones Boromir was astonished his mind was capable of fantasizing. True, he had not often done this before, usually preferring to be on the receiving end, but what felt good to him would certainly not lead to disappointment on Aragorn’s side.

Boromir paused for a second, surprised by his own train of thoughts. _‘Would make Aragorn feel good?’_ He had not expected that. Nevertheless, Boromir accepted his train of thoughts. Over the course of the journey he had come to admire Aragorn’s strength, his relentlessness, and skill in conversation, be it with the Hobbits or many nights with Gandalf, and if he was honest, his physical appearance too.

Boromir’s voice was used to give commands – except in the bedroom, where he eagerly awaited his brother’s commands night after night. It was not so that he was out of his depth with the situation at hand, not exactly, because his body had already made a decision for him long ago.

But there was much more to this, at least to Boromir, deriving from their past – and the future, Aragorn’s revealed heritage most of all. It was Gondor’s rightful king who so casually had offered him a fuck in the forest, willingly submitting himself by allowing Boromir to bind his hands. He could not deny the effect all this had on him.

Boromir took a step back.

“Turn around,” he ordered at last, watching Aragorn obey immediately.

The tree under which they stood was perfectly suited to what Boromir had in mind, having branches just at the right height to secure Aragorn’s arms. He took the vial out of Aragorn’s fingers first, putting it into his pocket. Then he took the rope into his hands, delicate and smooth against his skin, and began to bind Aragorn’s hands together in earnest, then secured the rope around a sturdy branch.

He tested the knots several times, smiling when he was satisfied. It was nothing like Faramir’s intricate artwork, but it was sufficient and quite appealing. He took a moment to appreciate the way Aragorn hung there. Damn, seeing Aragorn so, tied up and completely at his mercy sparked quite a few other ideas in Boromir’s head! A pity that there was neither time nor equipment to pursue his ideas further. Instead, he focused on the important task at hand.

Undressing was highly overrated, Boromir had often found before. Lowered breeches and an unbuttoned tunic would certainly have to do tonight. Though they were away from the rest of the fellowship and he didn’t think that the Hobbits would go anywhere, still too occupied with their grief for Gandalf, he could not know about the patrols of the Elves. Perhaps even now they sat somewhere in the trees nearby and took delight in what they saw - or maybe not? Boromir doubted that manly bodies were much to their liking.

Standing behind Aragorn both of his hands began working on Aragorn’s belt, followed by the lacings of his breeches until he was able to push them down to Aragorn’s knees, taking a moment to appreciate the firm curve of his buttocks, before coating his fingers with the oil Aragorn had handed over to him earlier.

Aragorn moaned at the first press of Boromir’s slick finger against his entrance, the sound ringing as most encouraging music in his ears, leading to a certain impatience. Boromir’s touches grew firmer, less hesitant than before each time Aragorn hummed, quite pleased. He was gentler than he thought he would be, surprised by the way the ranger’s skin felt beneath his fingers and by the sounds Aragorn made.

He pushed in and out again, observing Aragorn’s reaction closely. Only when he judged the stretch sufficient enough did he add a second finger, and then a third, not even asking before he made the next move. The delight Boromir found in the way Aragorn pushed against his hand was breathtaking; needy and utterly shameless in a way it truly surprised Boromir. They had never been together like this before; they had had more than one quarrel since they set out from Rivendell, yet the way Aragorn moved against his hand spoke of endless trust. Boromir envied him for it. He knew he could never act that way.

He was so caught in his thoughts that his motion stilled. Aragorn shot him a glance over his shoulder, urging him to go on, not unlike how he had often pleaded with Faramir, both to go on and to stop. The similarities were disturbing; another and time and another place, reversed positions – and yet, so jarringly alike.

“That’s enough I’d say.”  

Aragorn’s voice rang in Boromir’s ear and for another moment his mind went astray, wallowing in memories and desire of days long ago when Faramir had tied him up for the first time, before he took care of his own breeches, damp already at the front. He coated his erection generously with oil, feeling the sensation of it with each fiber of his body. Even then he knew he would never last as long as he would like to.

As Boromir began to push his cock inside, Aragorn went up on his toes at the force of it, trying to escape the sudden, burning sensation although it was evident that he tried not to. He knew perfectly well how Aragorn felt, that deep ache and knew that stilling would only prolong the discomfort and pushed deep and deeper still until he was buried to the hilt. Only then did he hold back for a while, longer than he usually was granted for recovery, listening to Aragorn’s ragged breath that so much mimicked his own until he truly became impatient. One arm wrapped tightly around Aragorn’s waist, the pace Boromir set was hard and fast from the start, fueled by the fact that it had been long since he last had had the chance to relieve himself; the Hobbits’ eyes were everywhere and when they were asleep it had been Gandalf who watched closely. Aragorn gasped, but otherwise didn’t complain at Boromir’s impatience. It rather felt as if for Aragorn it had been exactly the same and now he was equally caught in a maelstrom of need and desire and desperate urgency.

From Aragorn’s undisguised reaction it was obvious how much he loved it. The sound of skin slapping on skin became background noise under Aragorn’s cries and moans, and secretly Boromir wondered when Aragorn had last had a good fuck – and with whom. He judged it must have been a good while. Boromir growled, fucking him deep and relentlessly, taking his own pleasure and giving it back to Aragorn all the same.

Briefly, Boromir considered holding back, but found it was useless, overwhelmed by his own emotions, which he somehow had not expected. He pressed even tighter against Aragorn’s body and brought his lips against his skin, kissing his neck and shoulder and smelling the long days on the road in his hair.

The garb of a ranger suited Aragorn, much more than the formal attire he had worn in Rivendell. Aragorn was made for the wilds, not unlike Boromir himself who preferred a good sparring match with his comrades in the yard than tiresome councils in the great hall of Minas Tirith, and the smell of sweat and horses over the powdery perfumes of the ever-nodding councilors. Grabbing Aragorn by the waist he pushed harder, overwhelmed by the way it felt.

Boromir did not even try to keep from whimpering his need against Aragorn’s neck, and it was in that moment that he regretted not being able to see Aragorn’s face. Was there hunger in his eyes, blatant and unapologetic, Boromir wondered, admiration and trust as he was left to Boromir’s mercy, shaking from the intensity of it, just as he had always been in Faramir’s?

He was so close, so close that frustrated tears leaked from his eyes and his arm burned from the way he fisted Aragorn’s cock in the same rhythm as he fucked him. It was obvious that Aragorn was on the edge, too, by the way he rocked back and forth to meet each and every thrust and the helpless whimpers that tumbled from his lips as he spent in Boromir’s hand. Boromir pressed his face against Aragorn’s neck, quaking and gasping as his own orgasm overwhelmed him. Forgetting all and everything around him he cried out into the starlit night.

Exhausted, Boromir slumped against Aragorn’s shaking form, giving himself a moment of recovery before he removed the rope from Aragorn’s hands, being met by Aragorn’s look of complete satisfaction shortly after.

Perhaps, Boromir should have thanked Aragorn and taken his leave, going back to the rest of the fellowship as if none of this had ever happened. As it was, he found he could not. A bond that hadn’t been there before had formed between them, so at least Boromir thought. A bond of trust and respect, admiration even.

Whether Aragorn felt the same, he didn’t know. Boromir did not ask. Instead, still breathless he pulled Aragorn down onto the mossy ground and Aragorn willingly went. They didn’t speak much, if at all, each one caught in their own world of memories yet still connected by tangled arms and legs.

Much later, when at last the woods had fallen eerily silent and he was tightly tucked into Aragorn’s embrace, with his head resting on the ranger’s chest, the melancholy came back. Boromir was not blessed with foresight, but foresight wasn’t needed to know that their journey led right into darkness.

“Wherever this quest of ours shall lead us, I swear you my allegiance. My friend. My captain. My king.”

Boromir saw Aragorn smile at that, a barely there twist at the corner of his mouth, but nevertheless an acknowledgement that Boromir deeply cherished.

*

“Ropes indeed!” Boromir heard the Elf say from the boat a couple of days later. “Never travel far without a rope! And one that is long and strong and light. Such are these. They may be a help in many needs.”

Although the Elf spoke to all of them, Boromir quickly looked down to the ground, hiding the blush that blossomed upon his cheeks.

 

 


End file.
